Page 74 of Waking Roslyn

He didn’t respond right away. In fact, he did not respond at all, and I started to worry that I had embarrassed both of us. Yet he kept his arms around me, holding me and all my secrets against his broad chest, one hand between my shoulder blades and the other resting on the back of my head. So I contented myself with staying there in that dirty hovel, feeling more safe than I had at any time in the last four years.

17

Roslyn

Being in that hovel with John, I’d finally believed that we were starting to understand one another. He’d wrapped me up and made me believe that he valued our friendship enough not to care about my rank and all that it meant.

But then he’d gone cold. Perhaps not cold, but cool, polite—infuriatingly polite.

My disappointment over his withdrawal was profound. For a fleeting few weeks, I’d started to feel like I was fitting in somewhere, like perhaps I could belong with John. But it had been nearly three weeks since our fight in the rain and he was still pushing me away. Three weeks of worrying what it meant and being unable to confide in anyone about it. I wanted to tell Lisette, but I was terrified that she would disapprove, and if Lisette disapproved…I didn’t know if I’d be able to handle that.

He continued to teach me, and my confusion over the way he was acting drove me to focus and try harder. When sparring with a staff, I was more willing to attack. My hurt made me more willing to push back because it was my only outlet.

So much so that when he took me back to the stables during another training session and asked me to try flipping him over my back, I was ready for it. I would likely fail, but I wouldn’t let that stop me.

“Now, remember,” he said, and reminded me of the different steps, speaking clearly in a way that felt instructive but completely impersonal.

I stood with my arms crossed, feeling hurt and defiant.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

I moved into position and raised my chin. “Yes.”

He came toward me, and I could tell that he fully expected me to dodge to the side, shy away, or freeze. Instead I grabbed his arm and gave it my all.

And failed.

He was too tall, or too heavy. Or maybe I just hadn’t done it right. Either way, I ended up falling to my knees and then growling in frustration.

“That was a good first attempt,” he assured me. “But with someone as big as me, you’ll want to try to grab higher on my arm, otherwise you won’t be able to pull me forward far enough. Try grabbing my elbow instead of my wrist.”

I tried it again, but the movement wasn’t fluid. I was too caught up in the details of the maneuver and ended up flustered, especially when each failed attempt ended with his chest pressed against my back and his voice in my ear.

Couldn’t he feel that? The warmth that was almost a fire between us? Did it not affect him at all?

Perhaps that one flirtatious moment in the hovel had been enough for him, and now he was done with me. I shook my head at the thought. No matter how hurt I was by John’s suddenly polite treatment, I knew he wasn’t heartless.

I tried a fourth time to flip him and nearly succeeded, but it left me panting and frustrated.

“That was good. You’ve almost got it,” he encouraged.

“No I don’t,” I insisted. “Let’s move on to something else.” This failure to win against him felt too symbolic of my failure to be wanted by him.

“You can do this, Rose. You did it with Gretchen.”

“It’s not the same.”

“It is.”

I waved away his words, unwilling to be pulled into an argument. “We will just have to hope none of my opponents are as large as you.”

He pressed his lips and I could tell that he wanted to push me, but my look of defiance seemed to stop him. “Are you certain?”

“Absolutely.” If he was going to act like there wasn’t something warm and wanting between us, then I could do the same. I looked away. “Though I suppose I wouldn’t mind trying it without the pile of hay,” I muttered.

John

I almost agreed to it. If she’d be willing to keep trying by flipping me onto hard ground, it was almost worth it.